Trowa Barton and the Wooden Spoon of Extreme Destruction
by waterlilylf
Summary: When Trowa tries to help a friend find romance, he doesn't expect to meet the man of his own dreams. Or to have quite so many things thrown at him in a kitchen. 3 x 4. Sequel to Heero Yuy and the Frisbee of Doom...


Note: this is a shamefully belated birthday story for Snowdragonct (as well as a similarly belated sequel to the Heero's Frisbee story) in gratitude for friendship and so many wonderful stories (hint hint).

 **Trowa Barton and the Wooden Spoon of Extreme Destruction:**

'So,' Trowa leaned back in the passenger seat and grinned over at his friend. 'You want to tell me again why exactly you're asking me along on your date?'

Wufei sniffed, looking very fixedly over the steering wheel. 'It isn't a date. I _told_ you.'

'Yeah, right. A hot guy from the gym asks you out for dinner on a Saturday night. Kind of sounds like a date to me. Probably meets most people's definitions.'

'Let it go, Barton,' Wufei sighed. 'We've been over this. He's a chef, he's just set up his own restaurant, he was giving out his card to everyone last week. I'd rather not go by myself, that's all.'

'Aw,' Trowa crooned. 'Poor 'Fei. That's tough. Not even your own personal invitation from the guy.' He smirked suddenly. 'Of course, it maybe doesn't help that you can't remember his name.'

'Yes, I can,' Wufei said defensively.

'Yeah?' Oh, it was wrong to tease Wufei this much – the guy had more black belts in martial arts than most people had actual belts – but it was an unholy amount of sheer fun. Besides, Trowa had never had great self-preservation instincts. That was what Heero was for. Plus, it was too funny, thinking of Wufei falling for some random blond gym bunny. 'What is it then?'

Wufei's knuckles tightened and Trowa winced in sympathy for the steering wheel. OK, maybe it _was_ time to back off a bit.

'I'm sure I'll remember when I see him. Maybe.'

Trowa snorted with laughter, all good resolutions forgotten. 'Wow. This is totally the start of one of the great romances of all time. Great story to tell the grandchildren.'

'Shut up, Barton,' Wufei said crisply. 'We talked about this. It's why you're here. You can go into the restaurant first, and find out his name. Then you can tell me. It's a perfectly good plan.'

'It's pretty sad, though. I mean, I get why you can't just go up to him and tell you forgot his name, but if you're that into him, why couldn't you just have remembered it in the first place?'

'I'm not _into_ him,' Wufei said defensively.

'Heh. Bet you'd like to be, though.'

Wufei stopped the car at a red light and glared at some harmless pedestrians who had the temerity to walk in front of them. 'He just seems like an interesting person. He's polite, educated, cultured. Very charming and sociable.'

'Uh huh,' Trowa said sceptically. 'And you could tell all that by just looking at him, could you? Those outfits people wear at the gym, they're so revealing of someone's personality.' He sniggered. 'Well, revealing of something anyway.'

'I've spoken to him after yoga class. Twice.'

Trowa tried manfully not to laugh, because honestly, the idea of Wufei and yoga was never not going to be hilarious. _Wufei_! Still, he claimed he was enjoying it, and that it was helping him to de-stress, not that his friends had noticed much of a difference, but they were trying to be supportive.

'He's highly intelligent and well-informed,' Wufei went on. 'And it's very brave of him to set up a restaurant given the present state of our economy.'

A _dumb_ gym bunny to boot, Trowa reflected. No way was this going to end well.

'Anyway, if you want to talk about _sad_ , Barton, let's talk about you. Which of us _exactly_ is the one who had nothing whatsoever planned on a Saturday night, but staying home with a takeaway and some work files?'

Trowa shrugged. 'That was by choice. There were plenty of things I could have done.'

'So you _chose_ to stay at home and sulk.' Wufei smiled dreamily. 'How very sad for you.'

'And instead you dragged me out on some pretend pity date. That's so much better.'

'Poor Trowa. Must be tough not having your wingman any more.'

'Fuck off.' He said it too fast, too feelingly. Yeah, he missed having Heero around all the time, but it was good, great, that his friend had met someone he was crazy about. It wasn't like he didn't still do loads of stuff with Heero; they trained together after work, and usually went for lunch and they still had dinner out once a week.

It was just that Heero wasn't available all the time, but that was fine. He had plenty of other people to hang out with, and he liked being alone sometimes anyway.

Wufei scented blood straightaway, of course. Trowa's own fault, really; he'd been pushing a bit too hard. 'It's always hard being the single friend, isn't it? Didn't Heero say something about a friend of Duo's? Why don't you let him set the two of you up? A blind date, isn't that was it's called?'

'Screw you. The day I need Heero to sort out a date for me, I might as well just go into a monastery.'

'But the friend might be a very nice person,' Wufei said, his voice honeyed with mock sympathy. 'And you've met him, haven't you? I thought he was there the first time Duo and Heero met. That Frisbee incident.'

Trowa shrugged. He kind of vaguely remembered someone else in the background, but he'd mostly been looking at Duo – because, seriously, who _wouldn't_ want to look at Duo? – and then he'd noticed the way Duo was looking at Heero, and the way Heero was looking back, and then of course his clueless friend had totally missed out on the chance to hit on the gorgeous guy, despite the fact that Duo had done everything bar bend himself over the saddle of Heero's bike to show that he was interested. His friend was unbelievable, sometimes. A miracle that they'd somehow managed to hook up, after that. You had to give Duo major points for perseverance.

Yeah, and for being bright, and funny, and generally an all-round nice guy whom Trowa genuinely liked. And hot, although he wasn't really supposed to be thinking that about the person his best friend was dating.

He made Heero happy. That was the important thing, and it was truly pathetic that Trowa was feeling a bit left out. And, seriously, way, _way_ beyond pathetic to feel a tiny bit stung that Duo had never so much as given him a second glance.

'This is important to me, Trowa,' Wufei said quietly. 'Don't screw it up.'

'Hey, chill,' Trowa reached out to squeeze his arm. 'It'll be OK. You like this guy, huh?' There seemed to be a lot of that going around these days. Heero. Sally at work. Now, Wufei.

His friend nodded. 'I think so. I'd like to get to know him a bit better, that's all. God, I can't believe I forgot his _name_. But he came up to me at the juice bar, and there was loud music and lots of other people talking, and it was hard to hear exactly what he was saying, and shit, I can't exactly go in and tell him I don't know what he's called.'

'Which is why you've got this amazing plan to cover it,' Trowa reassured him. 'It's cool. Be one of those funny stories you tell at dinner parties in ten years' time.'

He leaned forward as Wufei pulled the car to a halt, a block from the harbour. 'Oh. This place? I've been planning to come here for a while.'

'You know about it?'

'There was a review in the paper a month or so ago. Pretty good, as far as I can remember.'

'Yes, well. Off you go. You remember what I told you he looked like?'

'Your height. Short blond hair,' Trowa reeled off. 'Eyes like sea-foam in sunlight. Smile like the first day of summer.'

'I never said anything like that!'

'You did actually. Just not that poetically. Which is possibly why my track record's a bit better than yours.' He winked. 'It's OK. They're good lines; you can borrow them if you want.'

'I do perfectly well without your ridiculous chat-up lines!'

True, oddly enough. There was obviously a segment of the population out there who went for uptight and overly opinionated.

'Now, don't forget why you're there. Don't start cruising the first hot guy you see.'

Trowa flicked his hair back. 'Would I do a thing like that?'

'Yes,' Wufei said firmly. 'I knew I should have brought Heero along instead of you.'

'Yeah, right. You'd have had to pry him away from Duo first.' OK, that possibly came out a little more bitter than he'd intended.

He and Heero had been a package deal since they'd been six or seven, and met at Relena's birthday party. They'd spent the whole afternoon competing in stupid kids' games, and ended up getting exactly the same score. They'd split the prize of a box of chocolates exactly equally and, not too long after, they'd both been dramatically sick under a lilac bush. The start of a perfect friendship that had lasted for two decades. They'd both had boyfriends on and off, but never anyone that serious. Never anyone who came between them.

Duo Maxwell, for Heero, was clearly very serious.

'It's only been a month,' Wufei said. 'Give him a chance. The whole honeymoon period won't last for ever. You know that; you've been there.'

'Yeah.' He gave Wufei a small smile and got out. It was a nice place; a little wine bar inside the door, with tables spilling on to the pavement outside, and it was crowded. Maybe he wasn't so dumb after all, Wufei's new squeeze-to-be, he thought, looking around. Lots of eye candy, but no one who matched the description he'd been given.

'You know,' a cool voice remarked beside him, 'I really do hope you're not looking for anyone in particular.'

Trowa turned around. Wow. Karma in action. You did a nice thing for a friend and you got rewarded by the living incarnation of the god Thor hitting on you. And there was only one thing to say to a come-on like that, really.

'I think I've found him,' he purred. 'I'm Trowa.'

'Zechs. I hope you'll have a drink with me?'

'Oh, I'd be happy to have all sorts of things with you,' Trowa said cheerfully. Bingo! It happened like that sometimes; no need to put in any effort whatsoever. 'Just give me five minutes. I need to check a reservation inside.'

'I'll be waiting.' Zechs gave him a charming, practised smile and settled back in his seat.

Trowa flicked through a menu as he waited at the bar, looking around. Plain white walls, big black-and-white pictures; tiled floor; a massive arrangement of lilies. Good choices on the menu as well; Middle Eastern food in the restaurant with a few Mediterranean dishes, and a small selection of tapas in the wine bar. Some special deals; sharing platters for groups, and a couples' set dinner including a bottle of wine. The wine bar became a coffee shop during the day. He'd definitely have to take Heero here some night. Maybe with Duo as well; he was obviously going to be around for a while. Time Trowa got to know him properly. And got over the little crush he'd been suffering from.

'Sir?' A waiter was standing at his elbow. Slick uniform; black dress slacks and shirt. 'May I help you?'

'Hey. We've a table for two booked at eight. Name of Chang.'

'Certainly, sir. We're just clearing your table. It'll be about ten minutes.'

'No problem. I was wondering, is the boss here tonight?'

'Mr. Winner? Yes, certainly. He's in the kitchen.'

'Oh, good. Listen, you don't know his first name?'

The waiter looked blank. 'We call him Chef.'

'Right. OK. Thanks.'

Oh, this was getting stupidly complicated. And he had Zechs outside, and he hadn't looked like the sort who was used to having to wait. Damn it. He laid down the menu and headed for the kitchen.

'Sir?' A waitress dressed in the same snazzy uniform stopped him at the door. 'I'm afraid you can't go in there. Chef doesn't allow anyone in the kitchen.'

'No problem. I know him from the gym. He said to drop by.' He gave her a confident smile and pushed through her protests, opening the double doors.

Gotcha! Not hard to pick out the chef; he was the one ranting at some unfortunate, cowering girl in wrapped in an apron, and brandishing a small saucepan in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. It was him all right; there were messy strands of blond hair sticking to his forehead, and he was about the right height.

'Ruined!' he was yelling, thrusting the pot in the girl's face. 'Totally ruined! I hope you're happy now!'

There were about a dozen other people in the kitchen, all with their heads down, terrified of getting caught in the line of fire, probably. Smart, given the general atmosphere of sheer terror. The meals ready to go out looked good, reminding Trowa he'd skipped lunch. And there was the most perfect dessert just at his elbow; a towering confection of cream and meringue and spun sugar and chocolate curls, and surely no one would notice if just one tiny bit of chocolate went AWOL….

' _Don't you dare touch that!'_

Eyes like sea-foam, sure enough. Not sunny right now; not remotely. Trowa removed his hand, and gave a little wave. 'Hey.'

'Who the _hell_ are you and what the _fuck_ are you doing in my kitchen?' the blond stormed at him.

'My name's Trowa Barton.' Trowa proffered his hand. 'Sorry, I didn't quite catch your name?'

'Oh, my God! I don't care who you are!' He slapped his spoon into the pot, and Trowa suddenly had a face full of some sort of sticky sauce. 'Get _out_ of my kitchen! Now!'

'I'm going, don't worry.' He put up one hand to rub at his eyes; some sort of citrus-flavoured sauce. It tasted pretty good. He was trying to attempt some sort of style when he noticed the framed newspaper-cutting from the _Sanque Times_ on the wall.

'Quatre Winner's new restaurant venture has set off to a resounding success and..'

Yes! He sent a text to Wufei. 'Quatre. Good luck.'

Wufei met him at the door. 'Where is he? _Quatre_ ,' he added, obviously not wanting to forget it again. 'And what did you mean, _good luck_? Is he with someone else?'

'Well. He's kind of sparky.'

'Not at all. You must have caught him at a bad moment. He always seems very laid back at the gym. It's one of the things I like about him. He's so serene. Just the sort of boyfriend I need to bring my blood pressure down.' He gave Trowa a careful look, noting the disordered hair, and the streaks on his jacket. 'Anyway, what happened to you?'

'Quatre Winner happened. Seriously, not to burst your bubble or anything but you might want to rethink the whole mellow, serene thing.'

'Nonsense,' Wufei said briskly. 'He's probably just a bit uptight because it's a new business venture. That's quite natural. Now, did you ask about the reservation?'

'They were cleaning the table. Said it'd take a minute. You want to get a drink first? They've got a pretty good wine list and….shit!'

Pointing Wufei toward the wine bar, reaching up one hand up to shove a dripping lock of hair out of his eyes, he wasn't remotely looking where he was going. Not a good idea in a fairly crowded room, with not that much room to manoeuvre between the tables. Not remotely a good idea when you ended up colliding with someone, particularly when that someone was carrying a very large, very gooey dessert.

What happened next was fairly predictable if you thought about it. The sort of slapstick scene they carefully choreographed in movies, and probably had to do a few dozen takes to get everything perfect. This only took one, and Quatre Winner's exquisite dessert ended up on the gleaming wooden floor, with Quatre screaming at Trowa, and Wufei – the coward – pretending they weren't together, and backing unobtrusively outside.

Trowa tried to apologise, tried to help clean up, and got screamed at a bit more, and then got a cake slice and a meringue flung at him. OK, maybe time to stage a strategic retreat.

Another surprise outside; Wufei was sitting at Zechs' table, not looking remotely bothered by the fact that all his dreamy illusions of Quatre had been destroyed. Looking perfectly content in Zechs' company, actually. Zechs quirked his mouth in a small apology and then went back to fussing over his new friend.

'Quite disgraceful.' Wufei was shaking his head reprovingly, his mouth thinned to a severe line.

'Don't you start,' Trowa groaned. 'It wasn't like I meant to do it on purpose. And I apologised.'

'Oh, I don't mean you. Quatre's behaviour was appalling. Making a scene. Shouting at someone like that in public!' He shuddered. 'How embarrassing'

'Quite shocking,' Zechs agreed promptly. Bloody sycophant. God, he was practically drooling as well.

'Well, he had some cause,' Trowa said fairly, glaring. Zechs met it with a bland little smile . 'I did wreck that cake of his. So, what? You're not interested in him any more?'

'Certainly not!' Wufei blushed faintly, looking at Zechs. 'I don't know what I ever saw in him.'

'So, you're totally finished with him?' Trowa pressed, making sure.

'I just said that. Why do you care anyway?'

'Because if you don't want him, I'll take him. You guys have fun.'

There were a few gasps as he walked back inside, and the waitress from before tried to stop him going into the kitchen.

'Look, I need to apologise. And give him my credit card details. I'll be happy to pay for whatever damage I've caused. I'm really sorry.'

'I don't know if that's a good idea, sir. He's not in a very good mood right now.'

'So better than he yells at me than you guys, right?'

She obviously saw the sense in that argument. 'He's in his office. Through there.'

He was sitting behind a desk, obviously practising some sort of deep breathing exercises from his yoga class. God, if he was taking the class to try to work on some kind of anger management issues, he'd seriously wasted his money. He could probably sue the instructor for some kind of false advertising.

'Not you again!'

'I just wanted to apologise. I'm really sorry. I'll be happy to pay whatever that cake was worth.'

'That cake,' Quatre Winner said furiously, 'took me a full day to make. It was for a special anniversary party. Do you honestly think any of those people will ever want to come here again? Can you even imagine what sort of things they'll tell their friends about this place? This is my business and it's only been open a month and I do not need that sort of publicity. You have no _idea_ how much damage you've caused.'

'No, I don't. But it was an accident, and you have no idea how sorry I am. I swear, I'll get everyone I know to come here. I'll come here every night for the rest of my life and order the most expensive things on the menu.'

'I could sue you,' Quatre hissed, 'for malicious damage to private property.'

'Well, you could try,' Trowa agreed, 'but I'm a lawyer and I work for Romfeller and I've a roomful of witnesses who'd say it was clearly an accident. I don't think you'd get very far.'

'Don't you really?' the blond smiled, scarily. 'I happen to know Treize Khushrenada rather well, actually. He's a close friend of my father. I think my chances are better than you think.'

Nice move, Trowa thought, admiring. Very nice overall, really. Snark and spice all wrapped up in a very appealing package. And he cooked too. That was always a plus. And yoga – he'd be flexible, probably. 'I know it's a terrible cliché, but God, you're gorgeous when you're angry.'

Quatre glared at him. 'Are you actually daring to hit on me?'

'Yep.' Trowa leaned back against the wall, arms crossed; a pose that was good for showing off his height. 'You should consider it, you know. With that attitude problem, you probably don't get too many guys who'd dare ask you out.'

'I do not have an attitude problem!' He snapped off each word as if it tasted sour.

'You were making some poor girl cry the first time I saw you.'

'I spent three hours trying to get that sauce just right. I asked that _idiot_ to stir it for five minutes while I checked on something else and she couldn't even do that without ruining the whole thing.'

Trowa grinned at him. 'If I say something like 'it was only a sauce', you'll throw something else at me, won't you?'

Quatre actually smiled. Eyes like sea-foam in sunlight, honestly. He was just uptight and stressed about his new business; Trowa could understand that. And he had the most glorious smile; bringing sunlight into his rather dark office. 'You catch on fast.'

'Totally. So. I know a couple of chefs and when they eat out in other places they generally spend the whole time bitching about how bad the food is, and my cooking won't nearly measure up to your standards, so I think the best thing is for you to ask me over to your place and make me dinner. I could be free any night next week, if you give me a day or so's notice.'

'You're extremely sure of yourself.' Quatre's eyes narrowed. He wasn't throwing stuff though, and there were quite a few possible projectiles on his desk. Stationery and a bowl of fruit and a couple of bottles of wine and – most worryingly – a meat cleaver.

'It's a win-win situation for you,' Trowa argued. 'If you're at all interested in me, you get to show off your cooking. And if I bore you, you can just poison me.'

'Now, that does have a certain appeal.'

'Bad for your professional reputation though,' Trowa said quickly, since Quatre was looking like he found the idea far too appealing.

'Only if anyone found out.' He gave Trowa a slow smile that would have looked more fitting on a great white shark. 'Lots of poisons are totally undetectable. Give me one reason why I should even consider seeing you. I don't know a single thing about you except that you're a lawyer. And I don't consider that any sort of recommendation.'

Trowa moved slightly, shifting to thrust one hip out slightly, emphasising the length of his legs. 'You know my name. I'm twenty seven. I do triathlons. I grew up in a circus and I live on a boat.'

Those last three generally reeled anyone in. Quatre Winner just shrugged. Ouch. He was seriously hard work.

'I have a cat. I have an older sister called Cathy. My parents died when I was twelve. I work in environmental law. I play the flute. I think you're gorgeous.'

'You already said that.'

'Well, it's true.' He pushed off from the wall, sauntered over to the desk. 'I love your eyes. Sea-foam in sunlight.'

'Do those ridiculously affected lines ever actually work?'

Trowa burst out laughing. 'OK. Whatever. You haven't stabbed me yet, and I'm taking that as a good sign. One other thing; I'm an amazing kisser.'

Quatre didn't stab him for that either, so he leaned across the desk to give a demonstration. That was the plan. He angled himself to avoid the glinting meat cleaver – seriously, why the fuck would anyone keep something like that on his desk? – entranced by the sudden gleam of challenge in Quatre's eyes.

And it was all of a piece with how every other bloody thing had gone so far that his elbow caught on one of the bottles of wine, and of course the wine had to be red, and the damn stuff poured out like a second flood.

He was spluttering apologies and trying desperately to move Quatre's laptop and the sodden clump of suddenly-blood-red papers and expecting to get the meat cleaver in his throat at any second because the wine was probably some sort of vintage, priceless, one-bottle-in-the-whole-world stuff, when he realised that Quatre was laughing and the world was a very different place.

Even the cleaver was glinting in sympathy, and the little lake of red wine – Malbec, he thought absently, dipping a finger in for a taste – looked mellow rather than dangerous. The tiny oranges in the bowl twinkled, brightly benign.

'You,' Quatre scolded with an odd little note of fondness, 'are utterly _hopeless_. Honestly. Is there anything else you'd like to knock over, before you're done? I don't think I'd ever dare to bring you home. I have far too many breakable things.'

'I don't normally break stuff. Really. It's just around you.'

'Hmm. That's not exactly reassuring, you know. If you were in my house, I imagine I'd be there too.'

'I'd hope so, yeah. Wouldn't be much point, otherwise. You'd just have to keep a close eye on me. Maybe confine me to one room; somewhere I couldn't do too much damage. Your bedroom, say. Maybe the bed, just to be on the safe side.'

Quatre canted his head, smiling that smile. 'How very forward of you. I would expect any incidental breakages to be paid for in full.'

'Naturally. I can put that in writing if you like. Draw up a proper contract for us. Sort of a pre-nup thing.'

The blond pursed his lips, a pretty little pout. 'I believe a contract requires offer and acceptance to be legally binding. I haven't accepted anything yet.'

'You're thinking about it, though. I mean, you are, right?' That was new; that sudden little jolt of sheer terror that Quatre wasn't really interested. Very new; he wasn't used to rejection, not like that. He looked good, and he was fairly successful; getting guys was never a problem.

'I am considering it. Possibly. I don't know.' He produced a handkerchief from one pocket and made a wholly ineffectual little dab at the puddle of red wine spreading across his desk. 'It's – maybe not a good time. I've just started this place, and I – I don't know, Trowa. I don't know you at all.'

'I don't exactly know you either. Look. I get it. I've pretty much wrecked your restaurant and your office and I probably came on way too strong for you, and I'm normally _way_ better at this, seriously, but I want to see you again, OK? Anything you like.'

Oh, wonderful. He was babbling; babbling like an idiotic brook, and practically begging to boot. The suave, smooth Trowa Barton who never normally had to do more than raise an eyebrow in a club to have guys fawning at his feet.

Wufei and Heero would have died laughing. He'd be giving them a very edited account of all this.

Hopefully.

Quatre breathed in; Trowa found he was holding his own breath, until the blond exhaled. 'You're not coming anywhere near my house until I hide anything that's remotely fragile. Not _any_ of the rooms. It could take some time to Trowa-proof everything.'

'OK.' He got the sub-text to that. Not the sort of person who invited random strangers into his bedroom, then. And maybe a bit leery of being hurt. 'I can live with that. How about letting me take you to dinner, the next night you get off? I'm sure you know somewhere that's half-decent, and if the food turns out to be terrible, you can have fun complaining to the chef. How's that?'

He really, truly did smile like the first day of summer for that. 'Yes. Please. At least…'

'What?'

'Well. You were bragging about your kissing prowess. I should probably find out for myself, don't you think? Before I officially agree?'

'I'm going to kiss you,' Trowa promised, getting up from the edge of the desk, and walking around it, 'like my whole life depended on it. I'm warning you now, Quatre. You might want to be sitting down for this.'

Eyes gazing into Quatre's – tide pools at sunset; shimmering calm with all sorts of mysteries underneath – he didn't even notice the laptop bag leaning against the side of the desk. Not until he tripped. He managed to stay upright, just, by banging into the desk itself, whacking his hip on the corner.

It didn't really matter, though. It brought Quatre out of his chair and into his arms, and – not quite incidentally – Quatre's tongue into his mouth.


End file.
